Woodsmoke and Whiskey
by SilverCyanide
Summary: Gale finds surprising comfort in Peeta after his mother dies.


**Disclaimer: **I own none of it.

**A/N:** Feels like it should be longer/more part of something, but I like where it ended. Also, figured I should post some THG since I get so many beta requests for it. I find Peeta and Gale's dynamic interesting, so you get this.

**Gale finds surprising comfort in Peeta after his mother dies.**

* * *

_For death is no more than a turning of us over from time to eternity. -William Penn_

It happens after he and Katniss fight. Katniss' fighting spirit had become subdued for a while, her brain in shock, but there are times it still flares up over the minutest things. Peeta knows she will apologize in the morning, an unspoken "even if I have a problem, fighting doesn't fix it" hanging between them, and he will forgive her because that's what he does.

On his way out of the Village, on a hasty walk just to try and put space between them so he can clear his head, he runs into Gale. Literally. He wasn't expecting anyone else to be on the paths this late, especially with the chill of an early winter settling, and so he didn't watch where he was going.

"Hey, easy there," Gale says, gripping Peeta's upper arm tightly to keep him from falling. The blond rights himself, going to brush off imaginary dirt; Gale gets the hint and takes his hand away. "Everything all right?"

Peeta shrugs. "You could say that." He'd gotten over his dislike of Gale for petty reasons, but there's still something about the other man that makes him uneasy.

"Fighting?" Gale says in a knowing tone. Peeta sighs.

"Yeah," he admits. "Were you—"

"Going to visit? I'd intended to. Figured I'd bring this by, since someone dropped it off, because of the… well, because." Gale holds up an amber bottle that's clearly alcohol, something better than the white liquor that is typically available. It is the type of stuff they'd never had before the war, and even now it's reserved for special occasions. Births. Weddings.

Deaths.

"I guess I should get going back, then." Gale scratches the back of his neck and turns to go. "See yo—"

"Wait." Peeta reaches out a hand to stop him, but he doesn't need it; Gale stops. "Do you… I mean, I've got nowhere to go right now either, if you wanted to…"

The older man turns, and though Peeta tries not to read much into it, the tenseness in Gale's face dissipating says something.

"Yeah, that'd be… that'd be nice."

"There's um, well no one else uses those houses anymore, you can get into all of them pretty easily so…" Gale gives a quick nod, adjusting the bottle of liquor under his arm, and the two head back into the Village. Peeta heads straight for a house across the square, one where the light of a fire won't be visible from the windows of the home he and Katniss share. Gale follows without a word.

It is easy to get the door open, and in a few minutes a fire is beginning to build in the normally unused fireplace. For once, Gale sits back while Peeta does things instead of offering to help: Peeta always got the feeling the other man hated having to owe anyone anything, even for small things like this, but he is glad tonight. Peeta isn't in a mood to compromise, and Gale probably isn't in a right state of mind to deal with being that close to an open flame.

The blond man goes into the kitchen, searching the dusty cupboards until he finds a few glasses. When he comes back, he goes to hand one to Gale, but the other man has already opened the bottle and taken a swig. He is staring deeply into the rising fire, and so Peeta takes the bottle and pours himself a glass without a word.

"She was like fire, you know?" Gale mutters. "I think that's why I trusted Katniss so much. Because they were… really different, but kind of the same." He drops his face to his hands.

"Hazelle was a good woman," Peeta says, his voice low as he takes another sip.

"Better than good," Gale says firmly. "Even… even though she couldn't do it all, and I had to help support us… she raised four kids and did it damn well. Always did whatever she was capable of and then some to help make ends meet." He reaches for the bottle and took another swig.

"I'm sorry," Peeta says after a long time of sitting in silence. He'd only finished his drink, but Gale's been hitting the bottle between them hard and it's well on its way to being empty.

"Me too," he says, and his voice cracks. Peeta gets up to stoke the fire, hoping that if his back is turned he'll be able to give Gale some privacy. Gale's hand closes around his wrist as he gets up and tugs him back down, so he's half in Gale's lap. Peeta carefully moves the bottle and adjusts how he's positioned, not breaking the contact between them in case Gale protests.

"I can't… I don't…" Gale shakes his head sadly, and there are tears in the corners of his eyes, something Peeta's never seen before. He wonders if Katniss ever has. He knows he'll never ask.

"How do you go on living when the person you've lived for is gone?" Peeta whispers, because it's a thought that's run through his mind more times than he can count. Gale nods, and then he's clutching Peeta's forearm so hard it almost hurts. His head is bowed, but Peeta knows he's crying, knows this strong man who has never let Peeta in is cracking in front of him.

Peeta tries to comfort him, but he is out of practice. Katniss never accepts comfort, especially not in a spoken form; she used to allow him to rub her back, though that's faded as she's "fixed" herself. (He does not like this word she uses, because if you still don't connect with the most important person in your life, are you fixed?) Still, he tries this, small circles between his shoulder blades.

Gale twitches at first, and Peeta realizes he must not be used to anyone touching his back. He can feel the scars through the fabric of Gale's shirt. When he goes to pull his hand away Gale tells him not to.

"Can't… just… please."

If this were anyone else, Peeta would describe it as begging. But this is Gale Hawthorne, and he does not beg, even if it sounds like it, even if his mother's just died.

So Peeta continues, as this man who's no longer an enemy but not quite a friend cries himself out, lets Peeta see what no one else ever will. When it seems he's finished, Peeta carefully pulls away. He stands, legs stiff, but before he can stretch them Gale's latched onto him again. Peeta's pulled down yet again so he's practically on top of Gale, and though he knows the other man can hold his weight it's still unnerving to be this close to someone other than Katniss. Gale looks up at him behind dark lashes, almost confused as to what Peeta's doing there. He seems to recognize he is the one who pulled Peeta down, because he doesn't fight it. Instead, one calloused finger comes up to rest next to Peeta's right eye.

"You have nice eyes," he mumbles. "Like hers."

"Your mother's?" Peeta asks hesitantly. Gale shakes his head.

"Katniss'."

Peeta opens his mouth to protest, because their eyes are nothing alike, but nothing comes out. He's suddenly hyperaware of how close their noses are. The feel Gale's warm breath against his jaw. The alcohol on his breath.

Gale moves in first, presses their lips chapped lips together. In the back of his mind, Peeta knows the alcohol and grief are still making him foggy, that saying Katniss' name could mean someone other than Peeta appears to be in front of Gale's. But as those strong fingers come up to rest at the base of his neck, Peeta can't help but sink in.

The kiss is slow at first. Peeta has time to really taste Gale, the alcohol strongest and then coal and wood smoke and the outside. There's mint, which reminds him of Katniss, because she chews it too, and the sting of his own betrayal hits him as he remembers they're together. But Gale's grip is firm, bringing him back to a different kind of reality.

Peeta presses in further. His hands move until one is wrapped around Gale's upper arm, the other pressed against his scarred back. Gale shudders, and Peeta's not sure whether it's from his hand or something else, so he deepens the kiss until it can't be his hand. Their tongues slide against each other with a ferocity Katniss' never has, and it strikes Peeta just how real this feels.

"Real," he whispers when they've pulled away for air for just a second. He eyes Gale, sees that this is almost definitely a result of the alcohol still in his system, almost can't stop.

Almost.

"You should… I should get home," Peeta whispers. He can hear the disappointment in his own voice, but hopes Gale hasn't sobered up enough to. It could be problematic in the morning.

"No home," Gale whispers, suddenly looking small. Peeta knows what he means.

"We've got a perfectly good couch," Peeta says, then hesitates. "Well, guest room. Chances are, I'll be sleeping on the couch." He gives a small chuckle, and Gale seems to understand some of his remark because he frowns a bit. Then Peeta stands, straightening his shirt where it's rumpled, and offers his hand to Gale. Finally, the other man doesn't pull him back down, so Peeta clears their glasses to a sink in the kitchen and comes back to a more put together Gale with a corked bottle.

When they get back, there's a scolding on Katniss' lips, but it drops when she sees Gale. She tends to him as Peeta drops to the couch and dozes off. In the morning, the three of them sit around the table at breakfast, and Peeta sees Gale to the door afterward.

Nothing is different.


End file.
